


You Always Deserved Better

by charliebradcherry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel's Confession, Dean's Confession, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-it Notes, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:39:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7013179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charliebradcherry/pseuds/charliebradcherry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds out by the different post-it notes oddly hanging in his room that Castiel has lost all the values he previously had just in order to save him, and he realizes that perhaps it's time to reciprocate his love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was something I wrote a few months ago but barely gave any attention after I had practically done finishing it. I don't know why, don't even ask lol. 
> 
> Tumblr is charlie-bradcherry.tumblr.com

Dean stayed quiet and partially flinched when the door slammed shut behind his back. The arm of his bag slowly slid off of his shoulder and gracefully dropped to the ground—and he was...just standing there, completely dumbstruck. He blinked his eyes what seemed after ten minutes, a crease existing between his eyebrows as he took slow steps forewards into his bedroom.  
  
Complete silence.  
  
He swiftly pivoted on his feet and gazed over the walls and the furniture, and he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Were his eyes deceiving him? The room was filled with notes of different vivid colors glued to the wall, to his bed, to each gun in his current possession that hung over the door, the curtains, the window. Each one of them was holding a special message that was dedicated to Dean.  
  
He hesitated for a moment, and then he staggering forwards curiously, letting himself draw attention to one yellow-ish note that was particularly glued just above the door handle. He squinted his eyes, lips moving along with the words that ghosted past them.  
  
_I'm sorry, Dean. For not being there when you needed me the most._  
  
Dean huffed a breath.  
  
_You never prayed, unless you were lost. And you may think I neglected you; but I remember every word, every tear of sorrow and pain that rolled down your cheek and dripped from your chin. I was sitting next to you on that cheap motel bed, and I watched you cry in remorse. I'll never forget and...I'm sorry._  
  
Dean's pupils dilated, and he reached out to gingerly caress the inked words over the square paper—but then he stopped mid-way, swallowing the lump in his throat and his hand balled into a fist. He didn't wanna think about those horrible memories, it reminded him of how weak he felt when it seemed like the people that he loved the most weren't standing anymore. Sammy had left his vicinity, along with Bobby, Jo and Ellen. His last remaining family, burning away in the fire.  
  
He remembered how he turned off the engine of Baby and ran out, far, _far_ away and kneeled down to the ground in the middle of a field near the road, his head hanging low and his eyes forced shut as all he heard were the crickets providing ambience to the still night. Dean wished to die, wanted to scream, he begged— _prayed_ to die after that Castiel hadn't been responding to his calls.  
  
There was another note, a dark pink one hanging at the ventilator. Dean didn't falter this time, and approached to read what was written on this one.  
  
_I'm sorry, Dean. For letting my anger out on you into that alley, to where blood pluttered through your teeth and ran down your nostrils. I watched you cry in pain and take my beating like you were used to it, and I didn't care until you collapsed to concrete._  
  
Dean's chest began to rise, and back down after a long second.  
  
_And I'm...so sorry._  
  
He backed away, eyes never leaving the piece of paper shinking from his view, and he gasped when his back met a solid and cold surface. He swiftly turned around, facing the wall—and Dean whimpered when there was another message written right there, waiting for him to invite those twisted words to mess with his mind.  
  
_I'm sorry, Dean. For trying to save us in a way that forced you to watch me become something terrible, to force you to bow down before me. I opened that portal and consumed those souls in hope to defeat my brother, and I remember that terrified look in your eyes that reflected back to me, screaming that I was a monster. And I was. It's not something you can forgive me for in the snap of a finger, but...I'm still sorry._  
  
Dean shook his head,  
  
_My goal in this was to rescue both you and Sam, but I failed._  
  
He met another note hovering over his bed's headboard.  
  
_I'm sorry, Dean. For leaving you alone in Purgatory. I was trying to keep those Leviathans off your back, because I didn't want to live with the sight of you coated in your own blood. I refused to let their eyes catch you first, so grabbing their attention was the only way, and I knew you'd survive better without me nonetheless._  
  
Dean felt like his head was spinning, and he didn't know what was going on. Every memory flung back at him, slapping him across the face for leaving Cas to blame. His fingers were resting in his hair as his eyes took notice of another note glued to the surface of the table next to the door.  
  
_I'm sorry, Dean. For invading your personal space. I had no idea that it would make you uncomfortable, so I attempted my best to save a few inches of space between the both of us. It won't happen again, I promise you that I'll work on it._  
  
His view was suddenly blurry, tears sluggishly seeping from his apple green eyes. Dean tried to blink them away, but didn't really care at that moment, because there was _more_ written on the note glued on the lamp near his bed.  
  
_I'm sorry, Dean. For making you read things that will make you unhappy just thinking about them. I just want you to see, to feel, what you meant to me through all these years of fighting by your side, and what you still mean to me today, and tomorrow, and forever._  
  
His heart unbiddenly stuttered at the last words.  
  
_From now on, I'll always be honest with you no matter what._  
  
He bit down on his tongue and gulped down the anger that he felt building up inside of himself. There was the urge to toss the lamp from the nightstand that drastically grew worse when he re-read that note, those words sinking into his brain—and it _hurt_.  
  
Dean recklessly snatched the note off of the lamp and buried it inside his fist, hoping that it would be wrinkled when he'd open his palm again. And it was. He wanted to scream at it with all his might until his voice was gone, tell Cas that there's no need for it, that he hadn't been honest either, that Sam hadn't been honest—that they were _both_ never really honest to each other and fought about it from time to time.  
  
He heaved and stepped back, the wrinkled note slipping from his hands and dropping to the ground. Dean didn't bother picking it up when he felt the need to read the next sign on the desk.  
  
And this time, it felt like a bullet hit him right through his heart.  
  
_I'm sorry, Dean. For falling for you, and not telling you much sooner. I love you. I thought that there was another way to tell you, because you deserve something more specific and original than that...but I've been seeking for far too long now and I've never reached the result I was hoping for. Then, I knew that none of the words that currently exist in any dictionary can describe my feelings, not even those three simple words, and everything I've done to try and impress you hasn't worked out it seems, because you still haven't figured out that I've been falling for you for so long. I'm sorry._  
  
One whimper.  
  
_I'm sorry, Dean. That the looks I gave you weren't enough for you to understand._  
  
"Cas..."  
  
_I'm sorry, Dean...for all the stupid things I've done. Despite every mistake, I still learned a lot from them, and you changed me. Thank you for that._  
  
In an instant, a pillow flew across the room and hit the lamp on the nightstand, which then fell and broke, glass shattering to pieces that sauntered all over the place. With a loud groan of frustration, Dean kicked the foot of the table once, twice, and a third time—and managed his hands through his hair.  
  
He didn't wanna cry, nor feel dizzy like he might somehow turn nauseated.  
  
Castiel had been following him around like a lost puppy for years, because he fell in love with a human. And Dean had been so stupidly oblivious, left Cas to suffer behind him like he was nothing but trash. Thinking about it, he wondered if Sam knew of all this—of Castiel's feelings.  
  
But the more he thought about it, the more his mind exhorted him to finally kick down the table, unexplainable voices screaming at Dean to yell out after Castiel and kneel in his name, to rip those notes to a countless amount of pieces and burn them with a lighter, watch the inked words fade away with darkness. They were horrible memories, and he'd rather watch them burn instead of watching Castiel seek for his attention any longer and smile at him with nothing more but dull blue eyes that lost their color over time because of the pain that filled in and began to steal their place.  
  
Dean decided that he _will_ chase that pain out and watch Castiel smile brightly everytime they lock eyes from now on, even if that meant that he had to find a spell that would summon the greek goddess of the dawn, so that she could do him a favor to bring the moon down for Cas to see the effort he'd do for them to hold hands in the night, and tell him that he's sorry too.  
  
He'll love him, and show him—if that's what it took for Cas to stop thinking that he was the one to collect all his apologies and take all the blame in.  
  
And he knows _how_.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a soft cough that escaped Castiel's lips, and he sucked in a deep breath before it happened again—but that time, he coughed like he was actually dying, the harsh sound recocheting off the walls and succeeding to make his ears ring. It took him a few seconds to open his eyes, his crystal blues shining, pupils dilating at the ray of light from the lamp above him that focused on his face.  
  
He instantly recognized the smell of leather, dust and liquor that hung in the air. Someone else would worry that perhaps they had been drinking and blacked out in the middle of nowhere with only the strong scent of alcohol drifting through their nostrils.  
  
But Castiel blatantly relaxed, the corner of his lips curling up to a content smile—a genuine, content smile. Because he knew exactly where he was, and Dean had been here. Apparently, he had taken care of him while Cas was resting. He knew because Dean's brown leather jacket was covering his body, providing him perpetual warmth. Castiel allowed his fingers to explore the interior of the jacket that was warm and wool.  
  
The last thing he remembered, was that Dean was cupping his cheeks and abruptly shaking him, murmuring words such as _everything will be okay buddy_ and _hey, listen to me you son of a bitch_ and _don't you dare leave us now_ to try and keep him in the game. But since Lucifer's presence had been unexpectedly sucked out of him, it was hard to keep his eyes open. Amara had completely drained his energy.  
  
"Dean...?"  
  
Perhaps he was still here.  
  
"...I'm awake." He continued, trying to sit up, "Dean are you—"  
  
He lost the thread of his follow up, and stared in awe at the walls covered in notes. Some of them contained little self-drawn images, which Dean had probably spent his free hours on doing. And Castiel didn't know if he had to laugh, or cry—or just crack a smile, and not just at the notes, but also at the man that was sitting at the table next to the door, pen slipping from between his index finger and thumb as another hand kept support of his head as he slept.  
  
There were notes on Dean's lap, scattered over the floor and the table. Some were crumbled, probably because he was trying to come up with new concepts.  
  
Castiel was determined to investigate and staggered out of his bed in an instant, partly falling out in the process, but he remained stable by catching a hold on the edge of the bed. Perhaps he should've taken it slowly, but he couldn't care less for once. He was too damn excited for his own good, and he walked over to Dean who was still asleep.  
  
It reminded him of the nights where he'd stand close to Dean's bed and watch him drift into a dream about a normal life with his own children and a fiancé. And sometimes... _sometimes_ nightmares would fit through the leaks of that dream, and darken the place with horrible memories of torture about his history in Hell. Dean would be kicking his feet beneath the covers and whimper in fear, lips quivering at the feel of Castiel's fingers pressing against his forehead to soothe him and take those nightmares away, his grace burning them down to stardust.  
  
And now, Cas got the opportunity to watch him sleep again. His eyebrows furrowed when Dean mumbled under his breath, and he smiled down at him. A smile that he hadn't shown in years.  
  
His eyes slowly trailed down to the wrinkled papers on the ground, and he didn't hesitate to bend down and pick one of them up, reading it as he felt butterflies in the pit of his stomach.  
  
_So, maybe I should start over again. I failed you, really hard. And I'm not good at apologizing...but I'll try my best._

 _Cas, I'm sorry, I'm so damn sorry for making you feel left out. I've been treating you like a dog on a leash, using you and possibly also been tormenting you to the point where even a human being wouldn't be able to handle living that life anymore. How do you keep up with me? How do you even live with all that pain driving you up a wall, every day?_  
  
"Because I always had you with me, Dean. And that's all I need, all that's kept me motivated on moving forewards, regardless if you avoided my feelings unintentionally." Castiel whispered, watching Dean stretch in his seat and drop his face on the desk. "And I could have gone down that same path for days, without you knowing that I had been keeping the truth from you."  
  
He deliberately dropped the note near Dean's face that was resting on the table, snores echoing through the room.  
  
He went over to the wall and scanned all the papers that hung there, all neatly and accurately glued next to each other in a row, the colors of the papers creating a diagonal pattern of colors which he hadn't noticed the first time. His heart fluttered, and his hand placed itself over his chest to try and calm it down.  
  
_You sacrificed yourself so many times and yet I was too dumb to realize that you were doing it to rescue me. I'm so sorry, I don't even want you to accept my apology._

Castiel blinked a few tears away in his eyes. He couldn't possibly avoid the apology, never.  
  
_I'm broken, flawed—and you keep making me feel like I'm worth the world through those messages you wrote to me, but what makes you see that?_  
  
"Every hero is blemished." Castiel murmured, fingers grazing over the paper filled with scribbles, "They don't fight to win, they fight for balance to the world. And in the meantime, they break. Every little piece of them will be worn-out as time passes by, but they still fight and that makes them Heroes. Perfection doesn't exist, and it's not what I've been seeking for either. It _never_ was."  
  
_Writing this I feel like stabbing the freakin' pen in my eye for being so damn stupid, you know?_  
  
He softly chuckled, shaking his head.  
  
_Whatever. Point is, they all told me, over and over again, that you were lost because of me—and I never made a move. And that is just plain horrible._  
  
_I am horrible, and ashamed._  
  
"No, no, no—"  
  
_I don't understand why._  
  
_Why you keep saving me._  
  
_Why you keep blaming yourself._  
  
_How do you even still love me after everything I've done to you?_  
  
"Because I can't leave. _I don't want to_." he said, "I need someone to guide me through my own mistakes, someone to be the map that leads me back home, someone to further on teach me how to be useful and do the right thing—"  
  
A shaky breath escaped his mouth, and he paused when arms snuck around his waist and— _home_. Castiel was home. The familiar scent of musk, the new source of heat that embraced him, the love, it was all just _there_. It found him at last and he failed to suppress a whimper, tears leaking from his eyes as he closed them and sunk into the arms that held him close.  
  
"You were doing the right thing all along," Dean whispered, burying his face into Castiel's back, "And I am _so sorry_ for making you feel like you were wrong."  
  
Castiel sobbed, opening his eyes to read the last words that were written on the note, before his view went blurry again.

_You always deserved better._


End file.
